


Strangest Thing

by jinhyungnim



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Byeler - Freeform, F/M, M/M, byler, originally posted from my tumblr, ryers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-01-31 17:54:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinhyungnim/pseuds/jinhyungnim
Summary: It feels wrong. It defies everything Will believes to be wise. But for the first time in a long time, he feels something new, something else besides nothing.So in his third year of high school, Will makes a decision stranger than anything he’s ever done.He forces himself to fall in love with the image of the one he wishes for every single night.





	1. Will the Wise

Time has passed since the Mind Flayer, a memory so distant yet so close to home, as if it never was and has always been at the same time. Will has spent many sleepless nights and dreamy days, wondering if he’ll ever leave the past behind like everybody else seemed to successfully accomplish. He smiles at the faintest worries of his mom, exaggerates enthusiasm at Jonathan’s display of brotherly affection, feigns eagerness at his friends’ continuously growing interest in many new things.

Life goes on, and so it should. Lucas and Max started dating, and Max is now an indisputable member of the Party. Dustin continuous to take notes from Steve’s manly advices despite his constant denial that he follows the older boy’s words to a T. Mike won’t stop talking about El knowing that the girl will reunite with him soon enough.

So, yeah, life goes on around Will. And maybe that’s the problem. That life goes on _around_ him, avoiding him altogether.

It goes from _“Hey, baby, do you think it’s okay for mommy to date Hopper?”_ to _“Will, baby, Hopper and I are going to get married! You know what that means? That means Jane will be your sister from now on. Isn’t that great, baby?”_

It goes from Will watching Mike and El share intimate looks to Will watching Mike rush to their house with the main objective of seeing El and him as an afterthought.

It goes from Jonathan promising Will to hangout as often as he possibly could to Jonathan promising to call Will from his university in Chicago when time allows.

Life goes on around Will. He just can’t seem to find himself going with it.

He looks around him and see nothing but people moving on, happy and content, achieving their goals one checkbox at a time that he can’t find it in him to ruin their happiness by emptying his heavy heart and cluttered mind to their willing ears. He’s not the only one who went through hell, yet he seems to be the only one who never quite made it out intact.

Still, he remembers to be grateful. To his mom who continues to ask his opinion over every little thing. To Jonathan who never fails to call every chance he gets. To Hopper who treats him like his own, very much loved, flesh and blood. To El who seems to pick up her cues from their mother and treats Will like a son.

He remembers to be grateful to Max who painstakingly teaches him how to skate. To Dustin who never tires to elaborate his quick thoughts to the rest of the Party. To Lucas who constantly make it known that Will is the only sane one in the group.

And he remembers to be grateful to Mike. The Mike who became his first ever friend. The Mike who never gave up on him. The Mike who makes it so painfully easy for Will to fall for him. The Mike who Will can never ever confess to no matter how much it hurts to keep the sharp words inside his chest, clawing at his rib cage, ripping through his throat, tearing his mouth open that tears become an ordinary part of Will’s sleeping routine as if that’s just the natural order of the cosmos.

Life goes on, allowing him to watch his loved ones live happily while he sit back and enjoy the show on a chair of humility and repentance.

Life goes on like a white, static kind of noise that blends all too well in the background, soft and constant. A kind of sedation that lulls his consciousness within tamed borders, as if some sort of force is keeping watch on his every move, preventing him from exploding.

That last thought makes him laugh. He just simply doesn’t have the strength to go against life anymore. He’s not even part of it in the first place.

Three years into high school. That’s how long it takes until something finally changes. A someone.

A Richie Tozier comes into his life and shakes his world, slowly pushing him against the tides of life, turning down the volume of that god awful white noise, giving him a fighting chance to find his place in this cruel world.

Richie shows up one day, proclaiming that he looks like Mike, insisting that he even looks better. He wouldn’t leave Will alone since then, always showing up at random corners of the school and whispering silly things in Will’s ear. And every time, he gets bolder, grabbing Will’s hand, pushing his bangs out of his face, hugging him in front of the Party.

The group thinks it a new method of bullying, but Will disagrees. Because he and Richie share a secret. A secret that Will has no intention of sharing to anyone else.

_“Go out with me, Byers. Feel free to think of me as Mike.”_

_“Why, Richie? Dating, it – it doesn’t work that way. Do you even like me?”_

_“Would I ask you out if I don’t?”_

_“Is that a yes?”_

_“Only if you let me kiss you.”_

It feels wrong. It defies everything Will believes to be wise. But for the first time in a long time, he feels something new, something else besides nothing.

So in his third year of high school, Will makes a decision stranger than anything he’s ever done.

He forces himself to fall in love with the image of the one he wishes for every single night.


	2. Strawberry Lemonade

If life is a game and Mike is ever given the option to customize his own puberty, he would certainly set the mode on _easy_. His body is out of control, his limbs extending at a speed beyond his comfort that at times he no longer knows how to work them.

Life goes on a little too damn fast as if it’s on a tight schedule and it pulls Mike along with it, dragging him without permission, not giving him a moment to spare for the little moments he wants to cherish.

The little moments like growing up with his closest friends, experiencing puberty together, sharing stories about unwanted hair growth or the girls having cramps and whatnot.

The little moments like El becoming Hopper’s adopted daughter, Hopper and Mrs. Byers getting married, and the inexplicable joy that El feels when Will becomes her brother that she wouldn’t stop crying until Will steps in to calm her down.

The little moments like Mike finding soft paddings on areas where he often bumps his head around his house and finding Will’s fingers with telltale signs of being behind the protective barriers. Those moments never fail to bring a soft smile to Mike’s face.

Still, life goes on far too quickly than Mike could ever hope to keep up with.

It goes from Nancy being the supportive mother figure their own mom ought to be to Nancy sending him letters and calling him every weekend from her university in Chicago where Jonathan is.

It goes from Eleven missing for a whole year to Eleven being within his arms as often as they desire.

And it goes from Will being within his grasp as often as he desires to Will merely existing because the world tells him to.

And that last thought makes Mike dizzy faster than life could ever attempt. It sends a shiver up and down his spine and drives him to untimely paranoia just when things had finally settle down. Because there are moments when he sees Will with his eyes but he doesn’t _feel_ him, the light in Will’s eyes dimming with each passing day, the smile on his face losing the life it normally carries, the warmth of his fingertips cooling to a lifeless touch.

_“Mike, you’re thinking too much. My brother’s okay. Didn’t you say you wanted to hangout?”_

_“Mike, dude, are you alright? You don’t look so good.”_

_“Will said he can’t make it. What? No, Mike. Nothing’s wrong with Will. He said he just really need to work on his art project back at school.”_

Mike feels like he’s losing his grip on Will and the mere idea of it all makes him sick to his stomach, forcing him to an intangible madness that nobody else seems to understand. But it’s there! There’s something wrong with Will. Why can’t anybody else see?!

And one day, that _something_ finally had a face. A name. A Richie Tozier.

One day, he shows up and claims that he’s going out with Will. Someone who’s allowed to touch Will in a way that nobody else could, see Will’s expressions that even Mike had never seen, hear a voice he’s never heard Will use before, a look that’s never been directed at him.

Someone who can kiss Will’s lips just because that someone wants to.

If Life is a game, it sure is a cruel one.

But cruel as it may be, it has some grippingly honest features made possible by an elixir called alcohol, allowing its user to expose their bare thoughts and have the privilege to forget about it the next day.

_“I’m sorry, Mike. I’m sorry for loving you the way I do. Richie he… he said it’s okay if I think of him as you. God, Mike – I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please don’t make me leave him. He’s the closest I’ve got to having you for myself.”_

The thing is, anybody else who doesn’t use the elixir has the misfortune of remembering everything with detail as clear as Mike’s realization that whatever was wrong with Will had been him all along. And such detail also includes the recognition that a forsaken love tastes like strawberry lemonade in the form of Will’s soft lips.

“ _I’m so sorry, Will. I’m so sorry for not making up my mind any sooner. God, Will, I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you_.”

And he is. Sorry for making Will go through his emotions all by himself. Sorry for longing for someone else right in front of him. Sorry for what he’s about to put El through.

If life is really, truly a motherfucking game, Mike has never been more determined to write his own story with his middle fingers up in the air for the creator to see how no one can take Will away from him and how no one will ever take him away from Will ever again, and if he loses half his awkward limbs in the process, then so be fucking it.


	3. The Greedy Smaug

If Richie had to compare his life to anything, he would have to choose _honey_. It’s painstakingly slow, like the god damn liquid. Taunting, teasing, as if it’s about to do something but decides against it on a fancy whim and just… sits there in a pool of ambitiously collected hopes and dreams.

After moving from his small town of Derry to the equally small town of Hawkins, time seems to drag and deliberately so. It’s like holding your breath underwater for a full minute, or heating your food in the microwave for thirty seconds, making _forever_ sound like an understatement.

Life goes on like a spilled syrup. It starts off mesmerizing, the viscous fluid flowing like it’s on a mission until it slows to a painful stop.

It goes from Eddie sassily countering Richie’s sexually inappropriate remarks to Eddie obediently moving out of town at his mother’s command with his fists in a tight grip that his nails cut through his own flesh.

It goes from Mike and Stanley coming up with the most logical approach to the group’s bold and stupid methods to Mike and Stanley naturally taking over their family business because tradition says so.

It goes from Ben and Beverly boring the group with their poetical exchanges to Ben and Beverly separately seeking their passion in places that will promote their artistic growth.

It goes from Bill bravely paving the way for the Losers to conquer their fear to Bill paving the way for the Losers to be more than what their status quo says they ought to be.

And it goes from Richie naively betting his life on the line to conquer his own fear to Richie gambling whatever else is left of him for another chance to prove himself in a town so small yet so full of room for its mind to grow.

But the thing about honey isn’t just the fact that it’s thick and slow and persistently sticky. It’s also sweet and golden and so… beautiful. It moves delicately, with kind purpose and gentle perseverance. It cares deeply, loves selflessly, smiles irresistibly…

It’s a boy with honey colored eyes, a pair of deep, mesmerizing orbs with a gravitational pull of a thousand black holes. A boy whose existence is a whole new adventure altogether, a world where you can appreciate the leisure passing of time. A fear that doesn’t need conquering but a need to be conquered by, and desperately so.

It’s the tempting idea stuck in Richie’s tongue, bobbing up and down his throat. The brave façade he fabricates to create an equally tempting illusion to hoard all the honey for himself, like the Smaug piling mountains of gold out of greed.

It’s the enticing proposal of “ _I’ll be your Mike if you love me like you mean it.”_

And it’s the impossible request of _“Please leave me the moment this stops being fun for you. You’re by no means obligated to stay, much less fall in love with me. Not for someone like me.”_

And if life is like honey, then it sure lives up to its name.

Because for every time Richie takes a taste, it gets sweeter, richer, and much more impossible to resist. And the tempting idea once stuck in his tongue becomes the guilty apology burned on the back of his mouth that the one request he promised to fulfill is the only part of the bargain he can’t keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, but next chapter may possibly be the last and will have a more fic format rather than this poetic format I've been going for. It's been a busy holiday week (and it's not even over), but I was really hoping to release a Thanksgiving token for all of you who take your time with me and my silly stories :) Ya'll mean so much to me. Thank you.


	4. Flying Embers

Will blinks his eyes slowly and so infrequently, his body laying motionlessly in his bed as he stares up the ceiling, his hands folded on top of his duvet. He listens with controlled breathing to the sounds of the birds chirping outside his bedroom window, the muffled rattling of pots and pans in the kitchen, and the murmured conversations passing through the walls from the dining area.

There’s a gentle knock on his door, followed by a soft creaking sound of it being opened where a head pokes in tentatively, scanning the room for any signs of him. Before their eyes could meet, he closes his own, pretending to be asleep.

He hears the door close, and before he could consider himself alone again, his bed begins to creak, dipping at the weight of another body.

“Your hair tickles, Jane,” says Will lightly with his eyes closed. He hears, rather than see, the smile in his sister’s voice.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead.”

“Five more minutes.”

He doesn’t get a reply. Instead, he feels Jane get inside his duvet and snuggle next to him, her head now resting on his shoulder, her arm wrapping over his body. She releases a satisfied sigh. “Five more minutes.”

Women, Will observes, are beautiful and clever creatures. They know how to use their strengths and talents well. And should they lack in one aspect – say, beauty – they know exactly what cards they hold and know _well_ how to play them. They are crafty and ambitious, resourceful and persistent. In short, women are undefeatable.

Jane stirs beside him, and with a gentle voice she speaks. “Five minutes.”

 

***

 

The inviting aroma of freshly made eggs and toast and of fresh pot of coffee makes its way to the hallway, guiding Will precisely where he needs to be. His mom moves about the kitchen with perfect ease. Long gone where the days when she constantly needed to be elsewhere. She’s been promoted to a management position, her work hours at a much reasonable schedule.

At the table, his stepfather is already eating his portion while reading a newspaper. When he moves to pick up his cup of coffee, he notices the presence of his children and gestures for them to join him.

“Five more minutes?” Jim asks over his toast.

Jane simply nods her head once and takes her place at the table. Jim looks at Will who’s also taking his seat and reaching for his plate his mother hands him with a pleasant smile.

“You okay, buddy? You’ve been sleeping a bit longer recently.”

Will smiles at the way Jim folds away his newspaper to give him his full attention. “I’ve been staying up late recently. I’m working on this art project, the one for the scholarship,” he replies casually, more to appease their concern than anything else.

“Will’s been really secretive about it,” Joyce adds as she now takes her own seat with her own plate. “I’m so curious, baby. You have to promise to show it to us before you hand it in,” she warns pleadingly.

“What’s the theme again?” Jim inquires with a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“ _Impossible,”_ Jane supplies as she drowns her Eggo with maple syrup.

“That’s kind of a weird theme for a scholarship, don’t you think?” Joyce comments. “I mean, shouldn’t it be something more hopeful or inspiring? _Impossible_ sounds kind of depressing for students trying to go to college…”

The rest of the conversation melts into the background as Will’s mind travels to his art piece, wondering how exactly he will explain to his family the connection between what he’s painted and the curious theme. A piece that’s turned into a cruel joke only he can humorlessly laugh about.

He takes the last bite of his food and thank his mother for the wonderful meal, helping to clean up a bit before getting ready. Of all preparations he spends his time on, Will dwells the longest staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He searches, as well as hopes, for something physically pleasing that could compliment, if not match, the effortless grace and beauty of his sister. Apart from his expressively large eyes, he finds nothing remarkable on his own face.

There is, however, his hair that Jane apparently envies. And if a woman of beauty confesses to desire a hair such as his, then perhaps that could amount to something. He plays at the strands of his hair that’s gotten so long, he could tuck his bangs behind his ears and tie his hair up in a bun. Jane insists he keeps it long and brushes it herself to lessen the guilt of her unreasonable request. “ _Pretty_ “, she calls it. “I wish mine is as _pretty_ as yours.” Will could only listen in silence.

He doesn’t wish to have been born a woman. But sometimes he wished he could have the advantages of being one. Such advantages, under any romantic circumstance, include (but not limited to) being able to hold a man’s hand on a whimsical stroll down the street or display any form of public affection. It’s considered a given, rather than a privilege, for a woman to do so with her partner, and it’s almost awkward to watch a couple not do so in front of others, regardless of whether those actions will receive praise or incredulity.

And one might argue that a man can do exactly the same for his partner. But the thing about being a man, Will laments, is that he’s expected to perform such roles with a _woman_.

A woman like Jane whose beauty and charm only grow more pronounced by time. Whose sense of justice and loyalty to friends are equal to that of Mike’s and immediately followed by the rest of the Party members. Whose air and manner speak highly for herself before she even begins to open her mouth.

So, he couldn’t blame Mike for falling for such a woman. Couldn’t blame him for wanting her cleverness and wit and all she comes with. And if Will is ever to fall for a woman, perhaps he’ll fall for her, too.

But as nature would have it, he is premeditatedly to fall for man. And not just any man. His best friend. A man of virtue and of character, of all things good and just poured into one single human being.

So, forgive Will for falling for such a man. That you could spare him of judgement and prejudice for wanting Mike’s cleverness and wit and all he comes with.

Yet despite all this, he still wouldn’t wish to have been born a woman. Because should there had been but a slight chance for him in the first place, him being a man should by no means get in the way. He could only then attribute the lack of romantic intimacy, despite proper encouragement (which he refuses to explore), to the fact that he is nothing more than the bestest of friend Mike hopes and deserves to keep.

At the sound of a car engine beyond the walls, Jane gets up from the sofa where she’s been diligently brushing Will’s hair to perfection that not a single strand is tangled with another. They grab their things, bid their parents goodbye, and hop in Mike’s car, where Jane takes her designated seat next to Mike, while Will gratefully takes his right behind hers.

“My turn,” says Mike aloud as he places Will’s mixtape in his cassette player.

“I thought you said it’s your turn,” Jane asks in confusion when Mike presses the play button and the car is filled by the familiar sound of Will’s favorite song by _The Clash_.

“Yeah. And I choose Will’s mixtape. He picks the best music,” Mike replies with easy nonchalance as he pulls out of the lot and on to the road.

Will, in an attempt to hide his embarrassment at this casual flattery, covers his reddening ears with his hair, laughing instead as if the compliment is to be expected.

And the three take their usual route to school.

Another day begins.

***

 

To match the depressing weather of late November, many students saunter their way into the school with somber spirits for the anticipation of exams, and not even the prospect of holiday vacation could cheer them up.

Such is the overall mood of the school when Mike parks his car at his usual spot. He turns off the engine and prepares to get out of the vehicle when an idea crosses his mind. He hops off, slams his door, and impassively stands beside Jane when Will, still inside the car, begins to tap his window while shaking his head with a suppressed smile.

Mike bursts into a cheerful laugh and opens Will’s door, catching the boy who almost stumble down his steps under Mike’s weight.

“Child safety lock. Very amusing,” says Will sarcastically yet with a happy smile.

Mike continues to laugh as he wraps an arm around Will. “I’m sorry. But in my defense, my parents still think I’m a child because of what you told them the other day. So, I guess we’re even.”

“You _are_ a child,” Jane chides coolly, and Mike is deemed a child for the rest of the day.

Soon, a familiar car parks by Mike’s, and a group of three joins them in their own triplet cluster.

Dustin begins to speak with the dullest of expressions and manner. “Mike’s finally lost his mind, laughing his ass off so early in the freaking morning.”

“You’re like a Gelatinous Cube. You destroy the life out of anything in your path,” Mike spits out accusingly, pulling Will closer to himself as if to protect the smaller boy from the monster before them.

Dustin only scoffs, unaffected by the insult which he might as well acknowledge to be true. “I have English first thing in the morning because nothing says “America” than learning _literally_ the only language I know how to speak. Of course, I’d be pissed.”

At this, they all let out murmurs of pity for Dustin knowing full well how much he dislikes English classes. He could at least be bothered to try with his Art class, though with little talent and skill. But English, he despises. The poetries and the novels, the teacher’s exaggerated analysis of the color of the curtains which the author may simply desire to be _blue_ for the sake of the pretty hue rather than it signifying anything of importance.

The first bell rings, and the remaining students in the parking area let out a simultaneous groan as they unwillingly head to the entrance. Jane, however, undaunted by the gloomy atmosphere, happily recalls her private time with Max the day prior when the two of them shopped for new winter clothes. Dustin complains how the two girls _just_ bought some new clothes not even a week ago, but Lucas adamantly argues that ladies can never have enough clothes.

“You should see my sister’s closet,” says Lucas, shivering at the memory. Max could only laugh at him in her fondness of his sister, who also has an equal regard for her and often steals Max away from Lucas whenever possible.

The four walk ahead in a boisterous manner, their previous misery temporarily forgotten. Mike, on the other hand, contentedly walks at a slower pace beside Will. They walk in comfortable silence, their shoulders often brushing and the back of their hands frequently touching.

A strong gush of wind quickly comes and goes, creating a small whirlwind of dusts and dried leaves. For a late November, today feels uncommonly cold that nobody seems to be adequately dressed for the weather.

Will lets out a small sneeze while he pulls the collar of his light jacket closer to his face. Evidently, Jane forgot to grab her own scarf in her haste this morning, and Will, in all his brotherly affection, kindly surrenders his own to keep _her_ warm.

“Cold?” asks Mike as he caresses the side of Will’s face with the back of his hand, the gesture making them both stand still and face each other. And he _does_ feel cold. So cold and almost lifeless, and it scares Mike. The thought of Will slowly disappearing right before his very eyes unnerves him, and it makes him desperate for every opportunity to be near his dearest friend, to confirm the life that seems to be dwindling before him.

Will leans to the touch and closes his eyes, a small sigh escaping his lips. “How are your hands so warm?” Will asks with a smile as Mike now gently presses both his palms against Will’s cheeks. He keeps his eyes closed and opens them only with the loss of Mike’s touch. Mike takes off his own scarf and wraps it carefully around Will’s neck, making the smaller boy giggle when he playfully wraps it over Will’s nose and even to his eyes.

“Can you two stop flirting for just a moment? I have some fingers to thaw,” Dustin yells from where the others stand.

“Stop being a baby, Dustin. It’s not that cold,” reproaches Janes with distaste.

“See, you can say that because you have those _brand-new gloves_ that you bought yesterday. Look, my fingers are turning blue!” Dustin holds his hands up for the others to see, but his audience aren’t quite as fascinated with the lack of proper blood flow through his fingers as he is.

When inside the building, they then set out to their own classes. Jane and Max, having first period together, link their arms and wave themselves goodbye, but not without first giving a quick kiss to their partners. Mike and Lucas also share the same class and walk the opposite direction. But before they completely lose sight of the remaining two, Mike looks back and sees Will comforting Dustin in front of Mrs. Dale’s English class. The eager teacher urges Dustin to finally step inside, and Dustin gives Will a tearful hug while Will laughingly pats his back before the former dejectedly enters the room, like a prisoner taken into his cell.

Mike laughs to himself at the sight, but his laughter dies off when he sees the sadness suddenly overcoming Will’s face when he’s finally alone. Mike stops mid walk, and Lucas asks him what’s wrong. But he hardly _knows_ what’s wrong and when he looks back to Will, the boy is already gone.

 

***

 

A few more weeks pass and December is finally introduced with all the holiday spirits it normally brings. The Party, in all their Christmas enthusiasm, gather at their usual spot in Mike’s basement where they happily decorate a fresh Christmas tree they all pitched in to purchase. There’s some yelling of instructions as to what and how the tree should be dressed, of the right color schemes and positions of the ornaments, what tree topper should be chosen this year, and other minute details they particularly wanted done right.

Jane, in all her ceaseless pursuit of knowledge and wisdom in every aspect of life, eagerly inquires of many great things, presenting endless ideas and often leads the group in her endeavors that Mike is sometimes forgotten as the _actual_ leader. Which really works out for him, Mike admits to himself, as this gives him more time to think of other things in peace. And besides, he’s very much proud of what Jane has become and what years of freedom and a stable family have done to her.

Jane is so much in love with her friends and family that it’s often difficult to distinguish her kind of love between the two. Even her affections for Mike has, over the years, melted into a kind of familial love. That when she found herself surrounded by love, she returns them all with equal degree, and her heart that was once given up to only Mike is now divided into many portions that she finds it fair to divide her heart equally among them.

Still, there’s a distinction to her love for Mike, and to her love for Will there’s even more. She regards Mike with the kind of love and affection that is expressed through their kisses and holding hands, their intimate hugs and quiet conversations. She’s grateful to him, and forever will be, but apart from these physical contacts, her love for him weighs almost as much as her love for Dustin or Lucas or Max.

To Will, however, her love is of a different degree. They all saw it almost instantly when Jane and Will were properly introduced for the first time. She immediately attached herself to him, as if there was an invisible connection between the two. She explained that she could feel his pain, his sorrow, his anguish, and it comforted her. Not because she was glad of his pain or sorrow or anguish, but that she could _feel_ it as if they’re one person, it gave her peace of mind. Without knowing how to express her affections for him, she then took her hint from her adoptive mother Joyce and began to treat Will with maternal delicacy and wanting nothing more but his well-being and for him to grow into a fine young man.

 

***

 

The Party is in the middle of roasting marshmallows at the Hopper’s property (previously the Byers, although Will and Jonathan chose to keep their last name with Jim’s consent) one evening when Mike and Max have an unexpected conversation.

“He’s been looking pretty down lately, hasn’t he?” Max comments to Mike when she sees him staring at Will from afar and decides to approach him about the subject. The two of them stand by the table, while the others hover around the bonfire a few meters away. “You’re not the only one looking at him, you know,” she says with an arch smile when he looks at her in confusion. “I hear a lot of things at school. I get worried.” A pause. “Jane’s too optimistic to pay attention to any rumors, which really, I’m glad for. As tough as she is, she would’ve cried hearing what kids say about Will.”

Mike chooses to remain silent. Of course, he knows. They go to the same school, for crying out loud. And as much as he avoids listening to rumors, he can’t help but overhear anything related to Will as if his own consciousness selectively picks up on it. Still, he allows Max to talk.

“They call him all sorts of names. No wonder their grades are as low as their personalities. With the amount of time they spend gossiping about other people, they could be studying and do better for themselves.”

Max, with her beautiful harmony of fierceness and ease, has been a most valuable addition to the Party. Over the years, she’s proven herself to be a constant source of rationale and encouragement when doubt seems to cloud the members’ thoughts. Being the last member to join the group, she’s able to see things from a bigger picture when emotions run high and details too particular among the members. And to Lucas, she’s been a constant inspiration to be a more determined, disciplined man who thinks before he acts and act with purpose.

They watch quietly as Dustin and Lucas each pick up a piece of wood with glowing embers at its tip and begin to duel animatedly. Will cheers them up without favoring one over the other, while Jane occasionally scolds them whenever the burning embers fly in her and Will’s direction. Mike privately smiles.

“But you know,” Max continues as she keeps her eyes to their friends, “of all the rumors spreading around about Will, there’s one in particular that I can’t exactly be angry about.” This makes Mike look at her with intrigue. “A lot of girls are actually _jealous_ of his looks. Can you believe it?” she says with a laugh. “They say he looks prettier than half the girls at school. I’m actually pretty proud of that,” she smirks. With a firm pat on Mike’s shoulder, she walks away and rejoins the group, picking up a pair of sticks for herself and Jane as they team up against the two boys.

And in his solitude, Mike couldn’t bring himself to join the group just yet as his mind lingers on the last point that Max had told him because even _that_ , Mike admits to himself, he’s known a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was supposed to be the final chapter, Chapter 4, turned out to be a massive writing that I thought it best to break it into multiple chapters.


	5. Prince in the Shadow

Will has always been fond of drawing for as long as he can remember, and this fondness has often been his salvation since his childhood. When his biological father left them, he turned to drawing to keep his mind occupied. When his first of many experiences of being the subject of bullying began, he vented his sorrow through art. And when the Mind Flayer took over him, drawing became his language.

And yet, he has never been more pained and hurt by his very own art as he paints an image of Mike using only his own memory as a guide. It’s the first thing that came to his mind when he hears of an art scholarship competition with the theme of _Impossible_. After all, his affection for Mike is in every way _impossible_ – its acknowledgement, expression, and confession.

Even though he has never attempted to pursue his own feelings or to make it known to Mike by any means, he wishes to remove every bit of his romantic attachment for Mike for the sake of his sister, Jane. And once again, he finds himself turning to art by taking apart his emotions piece-by-piece and forming them into an image in his white canvas. That by the completion of his painting, he would have completely erased his love for Mike, leaving only his feelings for that of a best friend.

With every stroke of his brush, he feels his heart rip to pieces. The smiles, the simple touches, the tears and the laughter. All of them will soon have to be forgotten, and all of them he paints with a painful lump stuck in his throat. The closer he gets to the end of his painting, the more wretched he feels. But for the sake of the greater good, his own feelings will be surrendered.  

In his quiet solitude, he begins to feel his overwhelming emotions pool in his eyes daring to fall when he hears a familiar voice speak directly behind him. He freezes. There’s no mistaking it. It’s Mike.

He turns around slowly and is too confused to be surprised that it _isn’t_ Mike. It’s Richie Tozier.

“It’s just you,” Will laughs nervously, his knees feeling so weak that if he hadn’t been sitting, he might’ve collapsed under his own weight. He then tries to remember what Richie had asked him a moment ago, but he couldn’t.

Richie pretends to be offended with that response and asks, “So, anyway, that’s not me then?” He moves closer to Will and peers over his shoulder to better inspect the painting. Will expresses his confusion but was suddenly interrupted by Richie’s exclamation. “Holy Shit! No wonder people keep comparing me to Mike Wheeler. We _do_ look pretty similar.”

At this, Will couldn’t hide his astonishment and, in disbelief, rather forgot his manners and gently removes Richie’s glasses without asking for permission. What he sees before him steals his breath. If it weren’t for the curly hair, Will would’ve believed that he’s _actually_ staring at Mike. The deep, hazel eyes that stare so intensely, the freckles peppering his fair skin, the sharpness of his features, all of it. They’re all undeniably Mike’s.

He stares without noticing how little the distance is between their faces, and when Richie asks him his opinion, he instantly withdraws his face and looks about the room except at Richie, returning to him the glasses he took at his own liberty.

“I look better, don’t I?” he hears Richie say with a confident tone, and his light personality makes it very easy for Will to recover. They spend a few more moments together in a casual chatter when Richie declares that he’ll be out of Will’s way and sets to leave.

Before he realizes what he’s done, Will sees his own fingers curling around the hem of Richie’s sleeve just as the other is walking away. Richie turns around immediately, and though he appears understandably puzzled, he doesn’t seem offended in the least.

Will slowly retrieves his own hand and, finding no immediate excuse for his own action, settles on nibbling at his lower lip in silence. All he wants is to spend a little more time listening to the sound of Mike’s voice in privacy, just the two of them. Because every time he finds himself alone with Mike, it’s only but for a few short moments and accidentally so.

When Will recollects himself, he asks with a hesitant voice, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind modeling for me. Only until I get a few details right. Unless, of course, you have better things to do. It’s alright.”

Which is unlikely, since anyone who purposely wanders into the art room after school has no better way to spend their time other than to waste it.

There’s no immediate reply, and in his embarrassment, Will still couldn’t lift his eyes to look at Richie. He scolds himself for asking such a stupid thing. How exactly can he hope to move on if he continues to seek after the company of someone who looks _exactly_ like the one he loves? He’s being foolish. But people in love are never ones to make the wisest judgement.

“The jaw,” Richie suddenly speaks as he pulls a chair across Will, removing his own glasses in favor of appearing exactly like Mike. “The jaw should be slightly sharper.”

Will smiles mirthlessly as he takes up his brush once again. “I guess I haven’t been paying close attention recently.”

“Even though you literally, like, spend every day with each other?”

Will chooses not to reply, and instead he asks, “Do you really believe your own jaw to be so sharp?”

At this, Richie lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’re cute.”

The effect of that remark is immediate, and Will almost drops his brush. He could feel his face heat up, and he almost wants to fan his face to reduce some of its color. How odd is it to hear such a comment directed at him with the voice of the one he loves. It was... gratifying. And Will could only foolishly wish to hear more. He realizes belatedly that at this point, Richie has been staring at him intently with amusement and curiosity in his eyes.

“Don’t mind me,” says Richie, the curious smile not leaving his face.

They remain silent throughout the rest of their time together until they parted, and while together, Will feels himself being observed more closely by his subject than the other way around. And as for Will, he couldn’t help the blush and warmth and happiness bubbling up his chest from being stared at so openly by the very image of Mike. He couldn’t help it. And I beg you to excuse his weakness. He’s simply very much in love.

 

***

 

Richie, in all his easy going and open personality, has become a common favorite among the general student population. He’s honest, straight-forward, friendly, and easily approachable. People of different circles welcome him with perfect ease, and even though he doesn’t linger in one particular group, he’s very much willing to entertain them for the moment. There are some, however, who dislike his honest guts. But one can’t please everybody, and he’s the last person on Earth to hold a grudge. Except for Will Byers who may be completely incapable of holding a grudge to anyone at all.

It’s been a few weeks since Richie’s first encounter with Will. They have, since then, met several times around the school, and each time reveals a new realization to Richie of Will’s irresistible personality. Despite Will’s quiet and subtle presence, there’s something about his refine manner and air that command attention and awe. The confidence and the elegance in his movements seem to contradict his timid behavior. And as if to diminish his own presence even more, he tends to retreat behind his friends as if to hide his own existence. In his particular regard for his sister, he appears to make his own presence weaker, allowing hers to shine brighter. Like a beautiful prince in the shadow.

Yet, the biggest revelation to Richie is his realization of Will’s deepest feelings for Mike Wheeler. The dots have finally been connected, forming a clear image of a constellation that is Will’s love for his own best friend. This, Richie reflects in glee, is _really_ something. He realizes, too, that the rumors circulating about Will may not be totally groundless after all, although most of it are grounded upon jealousy of his good looks.

Richie doesn’t waste a single moment to make his realizations known to Will. He enjoys the smaller boy’s reactions far too much to hold back. The blushes and the sudden shyness, the stuttering and the glassy eyes. All of them are far too entertaining and far too lovely, and soon, Richie finds himself thinking less and less of anything else.

But why should Will be receptive and compliant to Richie’s half-assed approaches? Perhaps, out of desperation, Will has been slowly giving in to Richie’s attentions. It’s as if he would rather suffer than not get any attention at all. Even though this attention comes _only_ from the image of Mike rather than Mike himself. What Richie has yet to realize is that when you truly, deeply, and unconditionally love someone, you would abandon all shame and surrender yourself to all weakness just to get a tiniest fraction of their affection no matter how real or imaginary the affection might be.

For Richie, this expression of love is unlike anything he’s encountered before. He is, therefore, determined to entertain it for the sake of entertainment. That if his time in Hawkins is fated to pass by so painfully slow anyway, he might as well enjoy it with the company of the town’s most interesting boy.

Besides, he muses to himself as the image of Will pops in his mind, there’s nothing more enticing than eliciting such alluring expressions from Will whenever Richie so much as stare at the boy. The mere thought of this makes Richie smile to himself, and not even the direct scolding of his Calculus teacher could snap him out of his daze.

A piece of balled up paper lands on his head, forcing him to look up.

“Earth to Richie. Solve this problem for the class, please, since you seem so bored out of your mind. I’m sure this problem is a piece of cake.”

Richie clicks his tongue as he lazily gets up. He walks to the front of the class, takes the piece of chalk in between the teacher’s fingers, and easily solves the problem even with his mind half gone to the world. When he’s done, he places the chalk back on the teacher’s palm that remain suspended in the air.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have something important to think about.”

Mr. Garner, whose temperament is so laid back and friendly, merely rolls a piece of folder and lightly smacks Richie in the head as he shoos the boy away and easily goes back to his lecture, while Richie goes back to his thinking until class ended.

The bell soon goes off, announcing the end of the class. With his mind still busy, Richie takes his time to collect his things and slowly makes his way out. As he passes the teacher’s desk, Mr. Garner regards him with a light concern.

“Stay focused, Richie,” Mr. Garner says with a tone that reminds Richie of his own softhearted father.

“I’m getting there. See you later, Mr. G,” Richie replies over his shoulder and continues to walk away. To his delight, however, he sees Will walking down the hall with his usual group of friends but without the ladies. When the quartet pass by Richie’s classroom, he cheerfully follows them while avoiding the sea of students all rushing to their next class. He comes up from behind, hooks his arm around Will’s neck, and pulls him to the side.

The remaining three watch them in confusion and irritation at Richie’s unwarranted behavior, while the unsuspecting boy looks up at him with alarm, a genuine concern glazing his eyes. “Is everything alright, Richie?” Will worriedly asks.

Richie is so touched by this that he almost cooed out loud. Here he is, about to tease the boy who’s been on his mind for at least days if not weeks, and yet Will remains so sweet and kind and concern.

 _And very pretty_ , his own brain helpfully adds.

Richie’s heart bursts with joy at the look of misery in Will’s face. He swallows thickly as he realizes that, perhaps, he underestimated how much he enjoys teasing this beautiful boy.

He chuckles and lowers his head to whisper softly in Will’s ear. “ _I’m feeling very lonely. Come hang out with me? Just the two of us?”_

Will, as much as he tries to conceal it, is very much fond of and is easily affected by Richie’s voice which is identical to Mike’s. Although there’s a difference in the manner they speak, the sound, tone, and tempo are very much alike.

And there’s nothing more pleasing to Richie than to see the blush on Will’s face and the sudden shyness in his behavior. He watches in amusement as Will lowers his head and his face turning a shade darker.

This behavior, however, raises an alarm to Will’s friends, thinking that Richie must be plotting something against the boy.

Mike steps closer towards them with an arm outstretched for Will to take. “Will, let’s go,” he says with a glare towards Richie.

Richie smirks confidently. He knows that the prospect of hanging out _alone_ _together_ for a short time is too tempting for Will to refuse. And the only better alternative that Mike could ever offer is to hang out with Will himself, _just the two of them_.

And he’s right.

Will fixes his own expression to appease his friends. “It’s okay. Um, I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

As if on cue, Richie stirs Will away from the others with a smug on his face, leaving a dumbfounded Mike and his two unequally bewildered friends.

 

***

 

Third period is the best-case scenario the Party could possibly arrange this semester. All members of the Party are in the same class, except for Will whose Physics class can’t be switched with the History class the other five have together. So here they are, all five of them huddled in conspiracy at the back of the room before the class begins.

“What’s wrong with Mike?” Max asks sharply, turning to the two other boys. “I mean, what’s wrong with _all_ of you?”

“Tell us what’s wrong,” says Jane, slightly shaking Mike’s arm to get his attention.

“Well…” Lucas hesitantly begins when Max glares at his silence. “We don’t really know.”

“Will ditched us,” Mike half-whispers absentmindedly.

“That’s impossible,” Jane argues.

“We were walking with Will after second period and then Richie Tozier suddenly grabs him and whispered something to him and next thing we know, he ditched us.” Dustin explains in one breath without really looking at anyone as if he himself couldn’t believe what he just saw.

“Richie Tozier…?” Max repeats the name as if it _means_ something, but nobody seems to notice her.

However, before anything else could be said, Mr. Hamilton begins the class with a kind reminder of a homework that’s due, forcing the Party to disperse and to resume their conversation until lunch.

But it’s no use. Mike couldn’t focus at all. His mind keeps wandering back to what had passed, recalling Will’s expressions that varied so much in such little time for a stranger none of them really know much about. His face went from genuine worry to surprise and then, rather unexpectedly, to a sudden bashfulness.

Mike is so deep in thought that lunch arrives without his notice. He follows the Party to their usual spot mechanically, and by the looks of his friends, they all seem to share the same uneasiness, though perhaps not as severe as his.

Will has never once willingly abandoned the Party for any self-indulgent reason. He would always place them before himself, sacrificing his own time and energy to attend to their needs or wants, abandoning his own leisure for theirs, and almost never turns them down unless his parents do so.

Which is why they are all in shock, astonished beyond belief that Will would “ditch” them, as the boys had said. They are convinced, therefore, that Richie has something over Will which makes the latter unable to refuse the former. It’s bullying – they’re sure of it.

The sight of Will then causes a release of collective sighs from the Party as he makes their way to their table. Had the weather been fair, they would’ve stayed outdoors, but the cold air forces them to sit in the cafeteria surrounded by the loudness of the students equally opting to stay indoors.

Jane, happy to see her brother, waves her hand to get his attention when someone grabs Will by the arm and gains _his_ attention instead. It’s none other than Richie Tozier himself.

They watch in silent observation as to make their own judgement of the situation.

Will slowly halts in his steps, regarding Richie with a curious look. They stop to talk next to a recessed wall, away from the crowd of students too blinded by hunger to pay their surroundings any attention. Richie smiles broadly as he speaks, while Will keeps a reserved smile as he responds. When Will begins to walk away, Richie once again grabs his arm and gently pulls him back. This happens two more times and for the third time, Richie suddenly pulls Will into a hug.

Mike realizes he had been squeezing his can of soda so tightly that its contents spill into his hand. But no one makes any comment as they are all in equal state of shock, their mouths hanging open except for Mike whose jaw is clenched shut.

Will doesn’t accept or refuse the hug. He simply lays motionless in Richie’s arms. The Party could only see the back of his head, but they can tell he’s just as much in shock as they are. Richie whispers again in Will’s ear and briefly glancing at the Party’s table with a sneer.

Mike is livid. Richie is clearly taunting him, smiling at him triumphantly for reasons unknown.

Soon, Richie lets go and with a quick squeeze of Will’s hand, he walks away with a smile. It takes Will a moment before he could move again, and when he does, he could only keep his eyes to the ground. He forces himself to smile, however, as he approaches the Party’s table and apologizes for being late.

“Is Richie Tozier bullying you?” demands Jane with a low, serious voice as soon as Will could hear her.

“What? No!” exclaims Will, his face turning pale as he looks around the table. “It’s nothing, really. It’s… about the scholarship. We’re just helping each other out. Really, guys. It’s nothing.”

Every bit of the situation screams _something_ , but seeing the distress in Will’s face forces the group to let it go for the time being.

This _something_ , however, continues and becomes an almost daily occurrence, and every time Mike asks Will if he’s _okay_ , Will would always say with forced smile that he is.

But Mike _knows_ that he _isn’t._ He’s known Will all his life and could _feel_ more than _see_ Will’s emotions. And over the years, the unsettling sensation in his stomach has been growing, the gnawing feeling that Will is becoming less and less like himself and more like a mirror that shows what everyone else wanted to see – a Will who’s happy as can be when in all reality, he’s drowning in his own emotions that he seems _unable_ to share rather than merely refusing to.

When Mike goes home that night, he thinks of Will, just as he’s done so every night before that. He couldn’t help it. His own home reminds him of Will where little pieces of him had been scattered around like a protective spell. He thinks of Will whenever he passes through the door to his basement, touching the soft padding on top the doorframe where Mike’s forehead seems so determine to bump into.

Will had secretly placed it there and Mike had never once brought it up, but the knowing smile on his face as he touched the padding when he and Will passed under it together and the blush on Will’s face as he looked down on his own feet was enough for the both of them. It made his heart race to see Will look so privately happy about it, so Mike began to touch the padding affectionately ever since.

He couldn’t help it. And God knows _why_ because at that time, Mike _didn’t_.

 

***

 

With the end of the exams comes the beginning of the holiday break. Consequently, it’s been a few days since Richie last saw Will as the two never meet outside of school. He has to admit, it’s been rather dull without the strange boy even with the festivities happening all around town for Christmas.

The street lights are adorned with large wreaths, the shops decorated with strings of colorful lights both blinking and still, the people bustling around with their arms full of shopping bags and their children lagging behind pointing at the inflated Snowman and Santa Claus waving them hello, and with each store Richie passes plays a different song about yuletide carol and jingle bells. And still, something’s missing, and he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Luck seems to be on his side when he happens to see the very boy on his mind walking down the sidewalk across the street. Richie has been sent on an errand by his mother to pick up an order from a bakery store and is on his way home when he sees Will heading towards the same direction. He smiles, hurriedly crossing the busy street littered with cars and people doing their last-minute shopping.

“Will!” Richie yells.

Will mindfully steps out of the way before turning around. His sensibility always amazes Richie, and even now as Will looks rather dejected, he still remembers to be aware of his surroundings.

“What’s up?” Richie asks and pointedly stares at the paper in Will’s hand.

“Hey, Richie,” Will greets him with a rather forced enthusiasm. “Oh, this? I was looking for some paint colors I’ll be needing for my art piece. I figured they’d be on sale. But the store just ran out of these colors,” he looks sadly at his list as he says the last part. But quickly recovering himself and plastering a smile on his face, he adds, “I’m just heading home now before it starts to snow.”

At the mention of snow, they both look up to the sky that appears so thick and grey that it might cover not only the entire town, but also quite possibly the entire _country_ with snow.

“Let me see your list,” Richie asks, and Will hands him the paper. “I have all these colors at home. Come with me.” He takes Will’s hand and drags the boy to where he left his bike. Will looks around them quite fearfully as they ran down the street with their hands linked, but Richie is in such a great mood to mind anyone’s opinion. “You’re gonna have to hold this bread. This bike has no place for it.”

Will sits on the back of Richie’s bike, the warm loaf of bread safely tucked inside his jacket. The two travel back to Richie’s house in a rather leisurely pace. Richie’s in no hurry to be elsewhere at the moment. The feeling of Will’s arm around his waist and the simple knowledge of having _him_ as a passenger is enough to make Richie feel quite content, that missing _something_ no longer there. They reach his house eventually, and Will keeps the bread in his arm while Richie puts away his bike in the garage before closing the door behind them.

Richie resides a few blocks away from Mike, Will tells him so while they’re on the road. With his father’s generous income in the respectable field of dentistry, they’re able to afford a sizable house while his mother remains a housewife who also happens to receive a large fortune from her parents upon her marriage. He’s never one to flaunt his parents’ wealth which made the other students quite respect him for it.

When the two enter the house, they hear a woman’s voice coming from upstairs progressively making its way to them.

“Richie, is that you? Do you have the bread? Your father’s on his way home. We’ll have lasagna tonight, is that alri– Oh,” she exclaims as she sees Will. “Hello,” she greets hesitantly and looks at Richie before returning her gaze to Will with her hand extended. “I’m Maggie. I’m Richie’s mom. Nice to meet you…”

“Will Byers,” replies Will, accepting her hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Tozier. I’m sorry for intruding so late and so suddenly.”

Mrs. Tozier looks rather speechless for a moment. Richie could easily understand why, since he’s never brought home a friend as polite as Will. He quickly tells his mom the reason he brought Will to their house and is about to drag Will to his own room to escape his own mother’s inquiries when Mrs. Tozier desperately asks for his help to open a jar and to fix a few things in the kitchen.

“You go on upstairs to my room. It’s the first door to the left,” Richie instructs Will after convincing the boy that there’s no need for both of them to help his mom in the kitchen.

“Is he staying for dinner?” Mrs. Tozier asks when Will is out of earshot.

“I don’t think so. His family might have plans.”

“Oh, but this is the first time you’ve brought a friend since we moved here!” she cries. “Can we convince him to stay?” she looks at him pleadingly.

As much as Richie likes to tease his parents knowing how well he has them wrapped around his mischievous finger, he can’t deny the simple, earnest requests of his mom when she hardly makes any requests at all.

Richie is then obliged to ask Will to stay for dinner. Maybe the Hoppers can spare him for a night. When he’s satisfied his mom’s favors in the kitchen, he immediately runs up to his room to see Will. He took longer than he expected, and he hopes that the boy isn’t too disappointed. What welcomes him is a pretty sight and quite literally so.

Will had taken off his coat, exposing the slender shape of his body underneath his black turtleneck sweater that went all the way up to his chin. His straight, brown hair sits on top of his shoulders and his fringe had been pushed back behind his ears. He’s been standing, staring at Richie’s childhood photos by the dresser. His face looks reminiscent and melancholy. Perhaps he’s thinking of Mike as he studies each frame.

Richie couldn’t resist himself. He takes off his glasses as he tiptoes his way behind the boy, and without announcing himself, he places his arms on either side of Will and against the dresser, speaking directly by his ear. “ _See something you like?”_

Will almost drops the frame from his hands, catching it right before he completely loses his grip on it and promptly placing it back on top of the dresser. He turns around to look at Richie, but immediately faces the other way when he realizes how close their lips had been from touching. The back of his ears turns a pretty shade of pink, which turns into a deeper red when he notices the mirror right in front of them showing their reflections.

“H-h-how’s your mom?” Will stutters without looking up. “Did- did you do everything she asked?”

“I did,” Richie responds archly, and he decides to tease the boy further. He decreases what little space there is between them, gently pressing his chest against Will’s back and steering Will by the shoulders to face him. Trapped between Richie’s arms, Will has nowhere to escape. Richie continues, inching his face closer to Will’s and staring at his lips as he speaks. “She asked me to invite you for dinner. You wouldn’t mind staying for a while, would you?”

Will looks up at him with a sea of emotion in his eyes.

Regret. Guilt. Love. Want.

 

Want.

 

W a n t –

 

“Richie, your father’s here!”

Both of them take a sharp breath. Richie realizes that their open mouths had been a breath’s away from meeting, that his hands are holding Will’s neck, and that Will has been clutching onto the front of his shirt. He sees the panic in Will’s eyes, hears him say something which Richie couldn’t quite understand, and before he could say anything back, Will is already walking out of the room in a hurry.

When he finally snaps out of it, Richie notices that Will had left his coat hanging on the back of a chair. He grabs it as he speeds out of his room and down the stairs, and to his relief, Will has yet to leave.

“– I really am sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Tozier. But my brother’s in town from Chicago. He’d be sad if I don’t dine with him tonight.” Richie hears Will say to his parents as he approaches them by the kitchen. He could hear the tremble in Will’s voice, as if he’s trying his best to keep it steady and calm.

“Some other time, mom,” says Richie calmly as he drapes the abandoned coat over Will’s shoulders. Will startles, but he tries not to run away which he must’ve instinctively wanted to do. “And he’s not feeling too well. I’m driving him home.” He feels Will flinch.  “I’ll be back for dinner.”

Richie sees the exchange of glances between his parents and he could already hear the strings of questions his mom would ask him over dinner. _Who_ is _that boy? How come you’re so nice to him? You treat him so gently, I could barely keep myself from gaping. Please invite him over again._

Mrs. Tozier gives Richie a silent look as if to confirm his own suspicions before saying with a smile, “I understand. But please _do_ have dinner with us another time, Will.” Will merely smiles and gives a quick bow before Richie guides him to the front door and into the driveway where he parks his car.

Will still couldn’t look at Richie and scarcely lifting his eyes to see where he’s walking. Richie wisely chooses to stay silent as he opens the passenger door to Will and closes it after him. He takes his own seat and drives off in silence, occasionally glancing at Will who remains employed at mindlessly playing with the loose string of his sleeve.

It would be wrong to say that Richie feels bothered at the present. He’s _uncertain_ , his mind muddled and heavy and confused. This had been the first time that Will reacted so terrified to his teasing, and to make it even worse, Richie could hardly remember what came over him to do something so bold to Will.

He almost kissed him! And Will almost kissed him back... Richie knows why _Will_ would’ve wanted it, but to his _own_ reason, as to why _he_ would want to kiss Will, he doesn’t know. What he _does_ know is that he wouldn’t mind _actually_ kissing the boy if opportunity allows.

At length, they arrive at the Hopper’s without having spoken a single word. Several other cars are already parked outside, and from the shadows of people casting through the curtains and the merry music escaping through the walls, there seems to be quite a celebration. The two, however, sit in silence, watching the outside slowly being covered by a thin blanket of snow.

“I wasn’t supposed to– I didn’t mean to–” Will struggles to complete a single thought without stopping himself. Richie simply watches him, giving him all the time he needs to collect and express his thoughts. Will takes a deep breath and tries again with a softer voice.

“I wasn’t supposed to act on it,” he says, smiling sadly as he plays with his fingers. “I thought… as long as I’m by his side, us growing up together, being happy… I figured – _it’s enough_.” He pauses. “ _That’s_ what I was thinking when you caught me looking at your photos. It wasn’t a new thought, but the photos reminded me of it. I keep telling myself I shouldn’t want more. I shouldn’t be greedy.” Again, he’s silent. After a moment, he turns to Richie and gives him a tender smile. “You’re very kind, Richie. To humor me and my hopeless case. Thank you.”

And with a final smile, he prepares to leave and has his hand on the door handle when Richie says something faster than his mind can stop him.

“I’ll be your _Mike_ if you love me like you mean it.”

Will’s hand stops on the door handle, his head turning around so slowly as if he’s trying to determine whether or not he heard Richie speak at all.

“Go out with me, Byers. Feel free to think of me as Mike.”


	6. A Hopeless Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love me like you mean it."

“What… did you just say?”

“Don’t worry. You heard me right.”

Will stares, stunned beyond words as Richie returns his gaze with the lightness of voice but with the most serious expression. _Go out with me_ , the boy had said. _I’ll be your Mike._ Will swallows the thick lump in his throat, his body slowly turning to face Richie while letting go of the door handle.

“Do you really mean that?” Will asks slowly when he finds his voice.

“I do,” Richie responds matter-of-factly.

“Why, Richie?” Will insists almost breathlessly, confused beyond reason as to why Richie seems so groundlessly confident about everything. “Dating, it – it doesn’t work that way. Do you even _like_ me?”

“Would I ask you out if I don’t?”

“Is that a yes?” Will asks dumbfounded. That's not exactly an answer to his question.

“Only if you let me kiss you,” Richie replies with a meaningful smile. 

Will’s mouth hangs open. He can no longer keep up with Richie’s train of thought. And yet perhaps, there isn’t one. Perhaps Richie’s thoughts follow no rails at all. That his life is guided by nothing more than instinct and principles that save plenty of room for comprehension and appreciation of life as it is, and consequently, he gets to live a carefree, cheerful life unweighted by trivial, worldly matters.

“Is this fun for you, Richie?” Will quietly asks after a moment.

“Actually, it is,” Richie admits innocently.

Will looks at him for a moment before a small smile breaks out from his face. He laughs, buries his own face in his hands, and sighs as he leans heavily against the back of his seat.

Just when he thinks he’s about to give up completely and surrender himself to _life_ , the universe can’t seem to leave him alone and selfishly drags him against life itself in a whimsical power play, as if _Life_ is a dog and he’s nothing more than a plaything.  

“I’m glad,” he mumbles, turning to Richie with an expression he knows must appear miserable. He’s glad that in this nameless relationship they seem to have, they both find something beneficial to keep them happy. That in this mutualistic symbiosis, one finds a pleasing entertainment while the other finds an imaginary affection from the image of the boy he truly loves.

It’s a sad, hopeless case, indeed. It’s the kind of storyline no one would ever want to read. Like a bouquet of wilting flowers that’s been abandoned for hours and will never be touched again other than to be thrown away.  It’s like a creek that no one would bother to look at when there’s a lake ahead.

But what makes it an even sadder of a case is that Will would do _all_ of those out of pure kindness and empathy. He would read every word of this kind of story down to the last page. He would nurture the wilting flowers and even keep them between his books. He would sit by the creek and spend the day away watching it flow. Because somehow, somebody wrote this story in hopes of it being read, that those flowers can never be replanted, and that the creek simply aims to get to a settling place it may call home.

None of it really makes sense, and perhaps he’s never meant to understand his own feelings. He knows they’re there, have always been there, and may never go away. He wished many times to liberate himself from them and once almost succeeded, until now suddenly presented by a tempting opportunity to pursue his love in such an _un_ wise manner and he find himself swimming right back to his emotions against the flow of what’s _right._

Maybe he’s gone tired. Tired of escaping, of holding back, of always putting himself last that he no longer knows how much of himself belongs to him. Maybe if he just simply allows himself to breathe the air polluted by his own greedy desires, he’ll find himself a part of what’s never his to begin with. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll feel alive again no matter how much it kills him.

He could think about it all night, ponder about it until sleep completely escapes him and the morning finding him just as tired as the night before. But his years of experience _attempting_ to move on has taught him that he never truly will. And if he’ll end up just as tired and weary as any other day and just as unsuccessful and foolish, he might as well fail _trying_. 

 

_Love me like you mean it._

 

Will sits up and reaches for the back of Richie’s hand, gliding the tips of his fingers gently until both of theirs entwine. He stares at Richie’s eyes with a pleading smile as if conveying a message he has no strength to say aloud.

“Please leave me the moment this stops being fun for you,” he says in a voice that’s barely above a whisper. “You’re by no means obligated to stay, much less fall in love with me. Not for someone like me.” And yet he truly believes that the possibility of Richie _falling_ for someone like him is slim to none.

Richie appears thoughtful, quiet, and almost surprised. He looks as if he hadn’t exactly thought this far into his own proposition, as if he’s neglected his own lungs and temporarily forgotten to breathe. After a moment, he gives Will’s hand a gentle squeeze, his face breaking into a boyish grin. “Then I guess I’ll be hanging around for a while.”

 

 

 

When Will finds himself standing in front of his own door, he fearfully lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before his knuckles could meet against the wood.

“Will!” exclaims Mike with a delighted smile and Will feels a tight knot begin to form in his stomach. “I saw a car pull out of the yard. Did someone give you a lift? Hey… is everything okay?”

The ache in Will’s core begins to burn as he watches the worry form in Mike’s face, his bigger hands cupping Will’s face ever so tenderly. Will suddenly wonders how in the world he could possibly hold his own tears from falling shamelessly. He looks up quietly, repeatedly chanting an apology over and over in his head.

Mike deserved better. A friend who wouldn’t look at him with unwelcome desire and irrepressible want. A dear friend who wouldn’t use their friendship as a cloak with which to hide his feelings. He deserved the _Will Byers_ he faithfully believes he knows.

Mike cautiously looks behind him before closing the door as he steps out, the laughter and the music from the living room turning into a muffled noise when the door closes shut. “What’s wrong, Will?” he asks softly while brushing the loose strands of hair away from Will’s face.

 _I love you_ , cries Will in his own head. _Is that so wrong?_

He feels Mike’s warm fingertips brush his face so delicately as if for the fear that Will would break if touched less gently, and the mere thought of losing this touch makes him pray silently to himself a prayer of repentance. He asks for forgiveness, not for loving a man, but for loving _this_ man. He asks that if there’s any mercy left in the world that could be spared for him, he begs to use them all at once that he could somehow miraculously get away with this one _sin._ That if he's bound to pay for his foolishness someday, he could at least be allowed to feel what it's like to be with the one he loves.

 _Even if it’s just all pretend,_ he solemnly asks, _let this person love me back._

“Richie asked me to go out with him. And I said _yes_.”

 

***

Mike feels his heart hit the floor of his chest. His lungs feel so full and empty at the same time. If he had been able to think at this moment, he would’ve realized that this sensation feels awfully similar to how he felt when he thought he saw Will’s dead body being lifted from the water many years ago. But he couldn’t think, and he has just enough consciousness to stare at Will. 

“A-are you mad at me?” Will asks after receiving no reply from Mike. His voice is so soft and sad, just like the expression he has on his face. “Disgusted…?” his voice breaks.

“N-no!” Mike finally says urgently after recollecting himself, placing his hands on top of Will’s slumped shoulders. “There’s _nothing_ you can do that will _ever_ make me mad at you, Will. _Or_ disgusted.”

For all the good and just that Will Byers’ existence represent, there’s simply no place in this world and no creature in this universe that could ever justify having any disappointment or anger directed at him. Will, in all his generosity of mind and heart and soul, should always be blameless and faultless in Mike’s eyes that he could do something so evil and will still be found guiltless.

“It’s just that,” Mike continues as Will looks up at him expectantly, “I thought– _we_ thought he was bullying you, and…”

_Sine when have you liked guys?_

Mike couldn’t find it in him to ask this to Will. It seems so wrong, so judgmental, and so out of place after all the courage it must’ve taken Will to gather just to utter this confession.

“…And I never realized you liked _him_ ,” Mike finishes weakly. He could hardly think, could hardly feel himself standing. Will Byers liking _someone_. How could that slip under his very nose? “Do… do you _like_ him…?” Mike asks carefully. Whether he’s afraid to ask or afraid to hear the answer, he doesn’t know. Until he sees the confidence in Will’s eyes and the absence of doubt in his voice that Mike wishes he hadn’t heard the answer at all.

“I do.” Will pauses, staring deep into Mike’s eyes that Mike could almost feel the words being meant for _him_. “I love him,” Will adds breathlessly with tears in his eyes, “very much.” His lips tremble as he tries his best to suppress his tears from falling. “And I’d be really sad if you end up hating me for it, Mike.”

Mike ignores the ache in his throat as he forces an answer out of his own mouth. “Never.” He pulls Will into his arms and holds the back of his head with a firm hand as Will’s face presses against his chest. “I could never hate you. I promise.” He feels Will’s arms hesitantly wrap around his waist until he grabs onto Mike almost desperately, dampening Mike’s shirt with the tears he so adamantly refuses to show.

 

Will, who’s always been there from the beginning that his existence in Mike’s life is even more natural than air, now belongs to somebody _else_. Mike grits his teeth and hugs Will tighter. _What the fuck am I thinking?_ he scorns himself. _Will has never belonged to anyone before. Not even to me._

He has no right to feel abandoned, no right to hold Will back from belonging to anyone, and absolutely no right to feel betrayed as a best friend when _he_ found someone to like during Will’s disappearance.  

 

 “Thank you, Mike.” Mike feels Will’s fingers clutching the back of his shirt tighter, his face burying deeper in Mike’s chest.  “I wouldn’t know what to do if I lose you. Thank you.”

 

He has no right to stop Will from loving anyone, no right to feel neglected when Will finally says _no_ to him and spends time with someone else, and absolutely no right to judge his choice of _someone_.

 

 

Then why in the world does it hurt?

 

***

 

The rest of the night proceeds in a blur. There’s Nancy and Jonathan and Steve along with the rest of the Party, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Hopper. It’s loud and lively in the living room just as Mike left it a few moments ago when he shut the door behind him, and yet everything suddenly seems so different when he returns to it with Will by his side.

He vaguely recognizes that Steve has been animatedly detailing the latest fashion to Dustin who keenly listens at the edge of his seat. He could hardly comprehend Nancy’s teasing of Max and Lucas who both simultaneously blush at her particular inquiries to the _level_ of their intimacy. Mike barely notices Jane reprimanding Jim for _suggesting_ that, “I’m off-duty and the college kids could use a cold drink,” to which Jane indignantly replies with, “Papa, an officer is _never_ off-duty.” And he could scarcely understand what Jonathan has been eagerly telling Will and Mrs. Hopper with such a big smile paired with the broad gestures of his hands in the air.

Mike hardly knows _how_ to behave like himself and is so afraid to make an awkward response that he couldn’t make any proper conversation at all. He only listens and observes and laughs in a general way whenever someone else does, and while he struggles, he couldn’t keep himself from glancing so frequently at Will who behaves so naturally as if he hadn’t been crying in Mike’s arms just a few moments ago.

How long has he been hiding behind those smiles? How many times has he been near Mike looking all happy when he actually had been crying and Mike had no idea of it? How often had he comforted the Party when he himself needed it most?

Suddenly, the air feels too thick and Mike begins to struggle to get a single decent breath without feeling like he’s breathing under water. He could barely stop himself from taking Will back in his arms and keep him there forever, to promise – to _swear_ – that _no one_ and _nothing_ could ever harm him anymore as long as they’re together.

 

 

When the Hoppers declared that the night is over and that everybody _must_ go home, Mike appeals to stay a little bit longer and asks Steve to take Nancy back home which is willingly done, and Jonathan kisses her goodnight on their way out the door. Soon, the crowd reduces down to the residents of the house and to Mike himself.

The lively chatter turns into subdued conversations shared over a hot drink by the fire place, with blankets over their comfortably squished bodies on the sofa and on the floor, the lights turned off except for the colorful string lights hanging over their heads and by the walls. Several years ago, Mrs. Hopper would’ve opposed to the idea of taking out the Christmas lights for the horrible memories they gave her, but Will had long convinced his own mom that the lights had _actually_ brought them together during his desperate times and that he could find nothing but _beauty_ in them.

As fatigue soon claims them all, the mention of _sleep_ receives a unanimous approval. Tired as they are, the siblings refuse to abandon the comfort of their makeshift fort in the living room and spontaneously decide to sleep together in their cocoon of blankets and pillows. Jane, with the encouragement of Jonathan, resolves to have Will sleep in between Jonathan and herself, a rather nonnegotiable circumstance but is happily complied with by Will nonetheless.

Mike couldn’t possibly want to ruin the lovely family reunion and now insists upon leaving when offered to stay and spend the night.

“I promised my mom I’ll be home tonight,” says Mike quite dejectedly. “I’ll remember not to make that promise next time,” he adds laughing.

“Should I walk you out?” asks Jane as she prepares to get up from their sleeping arrangement on the floor, but Mike simply tells her that she should stay as it’s quite cold outside.

“I do have something to give to Will, but it’s in my car. Would _you_ walk out with me?” Mike turns to Will and gives him a meaningful look.

“S-sure…” replies Will with a rather strained smile, grabbing his red coat as the two now head to the door with the family bidding Mike _goodnight_ , their tired voices carrying through the air until the door closes shut.

By this time, the snow has now piled up quite generously over everything. The wind is no less generous, blowing past them with a cold greeting, determined to make them realize that Winter has come. Mike instantly regrets asking Will to come out with him in this weather, but he couldn’t think of any other way for them to talk privately, and what he has to communicate _must_ be discussed tonight.

So, Mike grabs Will firmly by the shoulder and quickly guides him into his car. He opens and closes the door for Will, quickly runs to the driver seat and slams the door shut, immediately starts the engine, cranks up the heat, vigorously rubs their hands together and blows several puffs of his warm breath into Will’s hands, all the while laughing and giggling like children in the middle of mischief.

And as Mike continues to warm Will’s hands with his own, gently pressing his fingers on the tips of Will’s cold ones, a curious thought slowly occurs to him, sliding into his consciousness like a snake in search of its prey. He remembers the times when Richie would almost secretly grab Will’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze every chance he gets. Will would never return the gesture, but now that they’re together… Does this mean that he finally would…?

Mike is so deep in thought that he doesn’t realize his own fingers slipping in between Will’s delicate ones, that his thumb is beginning to draw small circles on the back of Will’s hand. He doesn’t realize that the warmth he feels all over his body has nothing to do with the warm air blowing out of the vents, doesn’t realize how long his thoughts had been keeping him silent.

A shuffle in Will’s direction pulls him out of his reverie, making him look up to Will’s face and noticing how the tips of his ears are bright red and his cheeks a pretty flush of pink, his eyes forcibly fixed on Mike with the most casual expression.

“You wanted to talk…?” he says slowly, though Mike could hear a slight tremble in Will’s voice.

Mike immediately sits up and adjusts the heat setting. “Is it getting too warm?” he asks fretfully, feeling guilty that his mind had wandered for so long that he unknowingly neglected how warm it had been inside his car that Will’s face became flush with heat.

Will touches his own face when Mike had let go of his hands. “O-oh… yeah, kind of,” he stammers, smiling rather nervously despite himself. He begins to fumble with his hair, tousling it gently with his fingers until it hides his ears.

Mike pretends not to notice. “And yes,” he says as he once again faces Will, “I do want to talk.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating his words carefully, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. “We _have_ to tell the others.”

He had expected to see a look of panic in Will’s face, though actually _seeing_ it gives his insides an odd, twisting and painful sensation. Mike immediately seizes Will’s hand that had been balled into a tight fist on top of his own knee. “I’ll be right there with you,” he adds quickly. “We’ll tell them together. They’ll understand, Will, they _have_ to. But the longer we wait to tell them, the angrier they would be. They’ll think we couldn’t trust them. They’ll think _you_ don’t trust them.”

There’s a moment of silence. Mike could _hear_ the rapid pounding of his heart inside his ears as he watches a fresh set of tears pool in Will’s eyes. Will looks down at his own lap and two, large drops of tears fall onto his trembling hand as he quietly nods his head once.


End file.
